


Melodrama In Mismatched Shoes

by corvus_corvus



Series: Corvus' Banned Together 2020 Submissions [6]
Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon & Comics)
Genre: But I would recommend them since they are well written, Cultural Sensitivity, Fluff, Gen, No spoilers for the comics or show, Over the Garden Wall comics, Poorly handled social situations, Screenplay/Script Format, Takes place sometime between issues #10-#15, You don't need to read the comics for this to make sense, absurdity, emo poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 07:26:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28347615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvus_corvus/pseuds/corvus_corvus
Summary: A comic interlude in script form.Two times that Wirt (idiomatically) puts his foot in his mouth, and one time that he finally gets what Sara’s been asking of him.—Takes place during Sara and Wirt's shapeshifter investigation arc (OTGW comic issues #10–#15), but the story stands on its own. No comic knowledge needed, and no comic spoilers.
Relationships: Sara & Wirt (Over the Garden Wall)
Series: Corvus' Banned Together 2020 Submissions [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860889
Kudos: 4
Collections: Banned Together Bingo 2020





	Melodrama In Mismatched Shoes

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the prompt Cultural Sensitivity as a submission to Banned Together Bingo 2020.
> 
> And for my next trick, I will frighten myself with the ease at which I can write pretentious, emo, high school poetry!

#### ???. THE DARK — ???

Piano music trills through a void like cold breath runs down your spine, vertebrae by vertebrae. Spinning from the center of the dark, the source of the music appears: a worn piano played by a large green FROG. The frog is small and its legs dangle off the piano bench, but it speaks with the voice of something much, much bigger.

FROG  
“Welcome to the Unknown, and so on and so forth. While a greater welcome could be in order, these footnotes and side stories and folk tales are unlikely to be visited by anyone other than a vastly experienced guest like yourself. But what is it that your pilgrimage has wrought this time? A humble tale of the in-betweens on a daring journey to uncover the dastardly, defrauding, devastating shapeshifter from the shadows of these ancient woods.

“And everything returns to these woods one day.

“But that is not what we shall learn today, for instead I offer this not-so-swashbuckling yarn featuring a cast that could most certainly not be considered rapscallions and a moral that is in no way fable-esque. And you can trust me, for I am a frog. I will not be accepting questions, addressing concerns, or signing autographs, so please lower your raised hands and pitchforks and allow me to begin.

“As all stories do, this one starts when someone trips over their untied shoelaces.”

—

#### EXT. THE FOREST — AFTERNOON

We are greeted by a golden grove of birch trees that twitters with life. WIRT, a directionally challenged poet trapped in the body of a nervous teenager, walks the worn path with SARA, a self-assured gem interested in metaphor currently wearing a bee mask to evade the wrath of a shapeshifter. They are looking for Wirt’s brother, Greg, who is looking for Hero Frog, a heroic frog. Wait, a _shapeshifter_? At this time of day? In this neck of the Unknown? It’s more likely than you think.

WIRT  
(mumbling to himself)  
 _“Lo, we string letters together like blossoms upon a garland  
And words follow suit, heavy like boughs.  
Yet where might these weighty gifts be bestowed? And why?  
Ne’er do we ask how.  
For facing the vastness of an uncaring void shakes our souls like a winter storm  
We are not meant to confront the skeleton for whom we constructed a grotesque grapheme skin.”_

SARA  
“Who wrote that poem?”

WIRT  
“Huh? What poem?”

SARA  
“The one you were just reciting.”

WIRT  
(in his panic, Wirt trips over his untied shoelaces)  
“Oh, uh, I’m sure you’ve never heard of them.”

SARA  
“Really? Pretty sure I’ve heard of Wirt.”

WIRT  
“Me? Write poetry? This is a misunderstanding, I—”

UNKNOWN VOICE  
(from the left)  
“Watch out for the stampede!”

WIRT  
(still on the ground)  
“Sara!” 

But where Wirt expects blood-curdling screams, he hears bright laughter. When looks for Sara, bee mask returned to her face, he finds her surrounded by a horde of leaping cats. Three of them circle her legs and she reaches down to scratch one’s ears. Wirt stops holding his breath with a sigh.

The UNKNOWN VOICE returns from the mouth of a man in overalls. Revealing himself to be THE WRANGLER—a self-explanatory title—he saunters over with wide, bow-legged steps that make the bells on the heels of his boots jingle and the yarn hanging off his belt sway.

THE WRANGLER  
(lassoing with well placed casts of yarn)  
“Sorry about that. These puppies are a heap of trouble, but what kinda critters would they be if they were well behaved? You know?” 

WIRT  
(looking to Sara)  
“How can they be puppies when they’re clearly cats? They are cats, right?”

SARA  
(muffled by her mask)  
“I think it’s safe to say we don’t know. It’s nice to meet you, um…”

THE WRANGLER  
“Aw, I’m nobody important. Just a man with a job herdin’. But I haven’t seen you around these trails before.”

WIRT  
“We’re travelers. Lost pilgrims, some might say. You wouldn’t happen to have seen a boy with a teapot on his head? Or a hero frog?”

SARA  
“Or a shapeshifter?”

THE WRANGLER  
“Y’all are strange ones, huh? I’ve never heard of something so weird happening around here. If you’re just here to cause trouble I’ve got to get back to the kitties.”

WIRT  
“Wait, you said you’re herding. Are you herding _cats_?”

The wrangler glares.

SARA  
(whispering)  
“Wirt! You can’t just ask someone if they’re herding cats.”

WIRT  
“Oh? Oh! Uh, sorry about that. There’s nothing wrong with that. I-I have a friend who does the same thing, yarn and all.”

THE WRANGLER  
“Well, y’all know what they say about herding cats.”

SARA  
“It’s difficult?”

THE WRANGLER  
“No, you can’t do it on Tuesdays without a sprig of rosemary if you don’t want to end up barking like a dog.”

He gestures to the leaves poking out of his hat. Wirt and Sara give him blank looks, or really Wirt and Sara’s smiling bee mask.

“Hmm. Guess you really are lost after all.”

SARA  
(tilting her head)  
“I’m not, just him.”

WIRT  
“Hey!”

THE WRANGLER  
“I best be on my way,” he waves “Gotta keep these babies from causing too much trouble. Isn’t that right, little fluffykins? You bet your whiskers.”

The sweet nothings trail off as The Wrangler disappears into the woods with his herd.

SARA  
(breaking a moment of silence)  
“You know every place we visit is different.”

WIRT  
“Yeah.”

SARA  
“And all the people and customs are too.”

WIRT  
“Okay.”

SARA  
“We should try and be more sensitive. Especially since we’re the visitors here, not anyone else we’ve run into.”

WIRT  
“I think that makes sense, but what do you mean?”

SARA  
“Just like how if you came over for dinner and we had something you didn’t expect, you wouldn’t say something without thinking about it. You know we have different families, so you would speak with that in mind.”

WIRT  
(after a pause)  
“Can I come over for dinner?”

SARA  
(humorlessly)  
“Ha ha. I’ll think about it. But first, let’s try and be respectful.”

—

#### INT. THE VICTRITOWN HOOSEGOW — MIDNIGHT

A flame fills the frame with dancing light until we pull back and reveal it to be a candle. Dimly lit, the jail is dramatically furnished (just like its architects) with cells designed like massive bird cages resting on the scales of a blindfolded statue. There’s something to be said about heavy-handed imagery…

WIRT  
(speaking under his breath)  
 _“Though between us there may be that other than space—  
the movement of lips, the subsequent debris, the resulting sound  
—we do not meet. Nor do they.  
For vocalization and comprehension are not to be equated  
And it matters not when both are sand in my open hands.”_

SARA  
“Okay, that one was kind of interesting.”

WIRT  
“How did you hear that?”

SARA  
“Wirt, we’re sitting like ten feet apart with only metal bars between us. How could I _not_ hear you?”

WIRT  
“Good point.”

SARA  
“And you still don’t want to break out? The cells were definitely not made for someone our size, we could just walk between the bars.”

WIRT  
“It’s not about the cells, it’s about punishment, retribution. Though the bars in front of us may allow us to leave without physical mark, it is our souls that must serve time or risk being forever caged by my failures.”

SARA  
(laughing)  
“Right. And how is it we got here again?”

WIRT  
(sighing)  
“It’s my fault.”

SARA  
“It’s not about blame, but you’re right about learning from mistakes. So tell me what happened.”

WIRT  
(moving throughout his cell to act out the moment)  
“So we walked into this stuffy town and everything is shiny and fancy and everyone is all dressed up and serious. Everyone we asked was being vague about what the big deal was. And I said, ’What? It’s not like you’re all going to a funeral or something.’ But then they _were_ all going to a funeral or something for their late mayor. And the people in the white wigs and petticoats said ‘Oh! By golly! Such social transgressions cannot stand! So then we were thrown in jail, and we’ll be here until morning.”

SARA  
“And how does the story end?”

WIRT  
“That’s it. That’s where we are now.”

SARA  
“Oh, Wirt. This isn’t the end.”

—

#### EXT. RIVERSIDE CAMP/SURROUNDING FOREST — MORNING

WIRT  
(gazing into the river)  
 _“In perpetual night, I lay in wait of a celestine visitor, a passerby;  
to shatter the moment’s dark amber  
and share an orbit.”_

SARA  
“My middle name’s Celestine, you know?”

WIRT  
(startled and feeling the air above his head where there should be a hat)   
“W-what? It is?”

SARA  
(balancing a strangely familiar red cone hat on her head)  
“No, but my mom said it could have been. I didn’t think it was an adjective, though.”

WIRT  
(blushing, he looks to his feet)  
“It’s not, I just think it sounds fancier. Hey, have my shoes not matched this whole time?”

SARA  
“Yep.”

WIRT  
“Oh.”

SARA  
(smiling, Sara tosses Wirt’s hat back to him)  
“Can’t do anything about it now. We’ve reached the next town, uh camp? You should probably hold off on the poetry until we meet the residents.”

WIRT  
“I, uh—”

SARA  
(lowering her mask)  
“They’re here! Hmm. That was cartoonishly dramatic timing.”

Riverside shacks open up to reveal people carrying stacks of masks on their backs. Their faces already hidden, three approach Wirt and Sara in unison and gesture through some kind of silent message, switching out masks as they chat. They stop with a posture of interrogation.

WIRT  
(half whispering half yelling, incredulous)   
“They have question marks floating over their heads! H-how do they do that?”

SARA  
“I don’t know, and I don’t think you should ask. However, I think we have another strategy.”

WIRT  
“Trying to meet them on their terms right? Respectfully? I’ve got this.”

SARA  
“You don’t have to do it alone; we’ve got this.”

WIRT  
“Wow, did you just use a semicolon _and_ parallelism? You’re amazi–”

SARA  
“Focus.”

WIRT  
(coughing)  
“Right. Hi there, locals. We’re passing through, but we’re kind of lost.”

SARA  
“Speak for yourself. I’m exactly where I mean to be.”

WIRT  
“Okay, I’m lost and she’s whatever.”

Question marks multiply above the people’s heads.

SARA  
(to Wirt)  
“You thinking what I’m thinking?”

WIRT  
“Statistically speaking, it’s unlikely.”

SARA  
(pantomiming while she speaks)  
“We’re travelers. So we’ll be leaving your town soon, but we have a few questions.” 

WIRT  
(gesturing messily)  
“If you don’t mind.”

SARA  
(repeating him, but calmer)  
“If you don’t mind. Take it away, Wirt.”

WIRT  
“Have you seen a boy with a teapot on his head? Maybe carrying a frog?”

Wirt motions at Greg’s height and makes the shape of a teapot over his own head, bumping into his own hat in the process. Sara crouches to the ground and leaps like a frog. Croaks like one too.

WIRT  
“Or have you heard rumors of the great Hero Frog?”

Sara jumps to standing and puffs her chest out with another croak while Wirt grabs the hem of her cloak and moves it like a cape in the wind.

SARA  
“We’d also appreciate any info on the mysterious shapeshifter, if you have it.”

Both Sara and Wirt pantomime in halting poses, changing their silhouette every few seconds.

(whispering to Wirt)  
“Aaaand, jazz hands. Ta da!”

The air is still for a few seconds before the locals turn to each other and confer in rapid motion, question marks gone from the space above their heads. One of them matches Wirt’s pantomime of Greg and waves to a trail facing the midmorning sun, changing their mask to a smiling one as they point.

WIRT  
“You’ve seen him? Oh, thank you.”

All at once, the group switches their mask to something forlorn as they turn to Sara. Another mimics their impression of shapeshifting and makes an ‘x’ with their arms.

SARA  
“That’s okay. We’ll make do without another lead.”

Like a gust of wind, the locals huddle together in a mass of waving forms. A violent twist of one of their bodies reveals a huge, toothed mask with teeth barred in anger. Another wears a frightened mask and holds their arms above their head like a cone, and the third wears a mask without expression while mimicking Sara’s confident posture. Both end up unmoving on the ground when the toothed mask lunges at their throats.

“Thanks for the warning, but we have to find that shapeshifter.”

WIRT  
“W-we’ll be careful. Promise.”

Solemnly, the locals bow in unison while Sara and Wirt follow suit before leaving town. They make their way quietly down the sunlit trail, foliage getting heavier until it might as well be night.

SARA  
(lifting her mask)  
“We’ll be okay, Wirt. Now _that_ was a good visit.”

WIRT  
(smiling)  
“All thanks to a good plan by Sara the Bee! You know, for a bee that was an impressive croak earlier.”

SARA  
“Thanks. Great work to you too. I think you’re starting to get it.”

Wirt blushes.

WIRT  
(changing the subject)  
“I’m glad we’re back on Greg’s trail. We haven’t heard anything helpful about the shapeshifter in a while, though. I hope helping me look for Greg hasn’t made you lose your lead.”

SARA  
“Don’t worry, I have a feeling we’re closer than you think.

Continuing down the trail, neither of the pilgrims notice when round red eyes with beady pupils blink open from behind Sara’s shoulder. Wirt and Sara can be heard chatting out of frame as the eyes stay centered. Closer and closer we come until nothing remains but the eyes deep within the shadows of the trees. 

FROG (V.O)  
(quietly)  
“And everything returns to these woods one day."

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written something in script form before, so this is probably a rough approximation at best. Something about Over the Garden Wall is elusive that being able to write this at all is an achievement for me, but that's thoughts for another time.
> 
> I just always wanted Wirt to finally notice his mismatched shoes. :)


End file.
